


Timeless to Me

by bwinkbear



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Broken english, Fluff, I'm sorry I just HC Poland speaking a bit of broken english-, M/M, Makeover, My first stab at fluff, One Shot, itapol, tipsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24446950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bwinkbear/pseuds/bwinkbear
Summary: The hours seemed to fly by like pages in the wind when it was just him and Poland....Even when Poland traps him into getting a makeover...
Relationships: North Italy/Poland (Hetalia)
Kudos: 5





	Timeless to Me

The clock read 2:38 am. But did that really matter?

The hours seemed to fly by like pages in the wind when it was just him and Poland. Nothing ever seemed more important when it was just them two: no work duty, meeting to get enough sleep for, phone call worth pausing a conversation, or worry to cross their ever-pleased minds. Italy honestly felt like he could say anything around his partner and everything would remain as it were. That was the kind of relationship the two had: stagnant and care-free. Neither one cared for formality or strict boundaries and there was a trust that neither would hurt the other (even as they joked).

Why worry about such a thing when you’re with your soulmate?

The minutes on the clock, truly, meant nothing to the pair, talking for as long as their breaths allowed and only pausing to laugh or turn to their wine glasses, just enjoying their respective company and forgetting they ever had to leave for the moment. At some point Poland had begun combing Italy’s auburn hair, absentmindedly, lovingly stroking the wavy locks with every ounce of focus on his Veneziano. It didn’t need touching up, maybe past the few strands tousled by rolling across Poland’s bed hours ago, but the gesture was still embraced with satisfied hums and the smile of a man who couldn’t possibly want to be anywhere else in the world.

But it is at this that Poland suddenly grew an idea. “Ehm… Hold on a sec’,” and made his way out of the comfort of his room. Just like that, the moment was over. Italy was worried at his boyfriend’s sudden removal. Where had his timeless bliss gone, his ever-pleased consciousness? Time had briefly returned in that instance, Italy watching the digital alarm clock by his lover’s bedside with itching anxiety; but it all made sense the moment Poland returned, carrying a large, black case in one arm and a hand mirror in another. 

Poland had been asking, no, begging Italy to let him give him a makeover since the day they first went out, pandering on about how Italy was always such an advocate for artistic expression and just how cute he would look with a little color on his lips. This was always met with reluctance, however. A small part of Italy wasn’t so comfortable defying gender-formalities after having been mistaken to be a girl his whole childhood. But they were more settled now, and Italy had been eyewitness to Poland’s outings enough times to know at the end of the day, even with the occasional misgendering, he was still confident in his own body and pulled off skirts damn well- too much to care about how he was perceived. So at this point, how much could a little makeup hurt, anyway?

“I finally got you right where I want you~” Poland teased, resting his case down on the bed beside his anxious partner. “But, for reals though, you’re okay with me doing this?”

“Heh...I’m sure it’ll look great!” 

“I’m guessing that’s a yes, and if not, you don’t have a choice anymore,” Poland smiled in a sort of way that let his laugh escape as a breath, then turned to his large case and nudged the silver clasp uptop, allowing it open to reveal the several layers of cosmetics and tools inside. His thin hand hovered over its contents, fluttering his fingers over each container on the top shelf indecisively, then removed it, deciding to instead inspect Italy’s face with a careful raise of the jaw. 

“You’re getting a bit of stubble, you know.” He smoothed the pad of his thumb across Italy’s chin in brief sweeps, seeming to doubt himself as he spoke. “We should’ve really started this in the bathroom…” The idea was immediately internally dismissed by both parties, Italy objecting with a quirk of the brow. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’ll, like, be washed off before you grow a full beard anyway.” It was better to speak of the task as an inevitability than something to be taken care of, since the desire to stay put with each other was just as strong. No amount of wine could make them drunk enough to desire any other place right now.

“I don’t understand how you can keep your face so smooth for this stuff. Ve… I could never have the patience for it everyday.” Italy gave credit where credit was due, his boyfriend went through a lot to upkeep his appearance...going so far as to take vitamins for his skin and hair. There was a lot that went into it that Italy didn’t quite understand, and after one last look into Poland’s large, cluttered makeup case, he knew he never would. 

Poland smirked, having finally decided on a small spray bottle, and instructed for Italy to close his eyes. “I don’t think I could, like, grow anything on my face if I wanted to. ‘Kay, this stuff is supposed to help with skin sensitivity, but it may smell a little grody. It’s just like, all-natural or whatever.” He directed the bottle to each side of the face, supplying copious amounts of the mist to the bare surface. Italy gave a small cough and peeked an eye open painfully. 

“Ack- Please don’t tell me the rest of the steps are like this!”

“If they were, then I would’ve stopped buying this stuff a while ago. I promise the rest won’t be as painful. Well, mostly.”

Italy gave a whimper of despair (much to Poland’s delight), and this was taken as encouragement to keep working. The next few steps seemed to require rubbing creams on the face, and his mind began to wander to just when the real makeup was gonna start. There was an unnatural feeling to his skin already and he was afraid of the idea of touching it, despite loving to touch Poland’s face. Makeup and all. Did Poland ever feel this smothered? 

He next requested Italy to suck in his cheeks, and soon a thin brush was cascaded softly along the hollowed inlets. "Bronzer," Poland explained, though his efforts at doing so didn't really matter ultimately. It felt soft and silly, having the brush sweep him like so, and Italy began to relax to the idea of a full makeover. The spray was a bad start, but now it was hard to smell it anymore. The brush would then carry over to the outskirts of his face, a bit confusing of a transition, but it felt nice to have his baby hairs tucked out of the way as Poland worked. 

As Poland made his attention to the case once more, he muttered a comment about not usually looking at that forehead for so long unless he was gonna kiss it. Italy blushed in turn. "You haven't done my lips yet, I can still kiss you all I want~!" 

A white palette was taken out to feather onto his nose. "Heh… you should wait for me to do the lips, actually. I think it'd be nice to be, like, covered in marks from you." He immediately paused his work and buried his face in his wine, seductive talk never being easy for him. After he rested the glass down, Italy pulled him in for a clumsy kiss at the corner of the lips, laughing under his smile at the scene. "You're such a dork…"

"Whatever helps you feel better," Italy returned. "How did I end up with such a cute boyfriend?" 

"Oh, shut it, or I'll, like, draw a penis on your forehead!" Poland pressed his thumb down in the palette and wiped it on the tip of Italy's nose, smirking bitterly. "Okay, now for the fun part, I'll let you choose your eye shadow colors." Moving the layers inside the huge makeup chest, Poland located a small handful of palettes ranging from nude colors to primaries and laid them out on the sheets between them two. "I won't let you choose the exact colors because I don't know if I'm sober enough to make everything work."

Italy directed his eyes to the choices below and tapped beneath his chin in joking indecisiveness. He was a little tired of seeing so many pale colors go on his face, so the nudes were definitely out, but even in the more colorful department there was still a bit of selection. Despite this, they both knew he was looking at the rainbow palette placed in the very middle. How could Italy deny anything so colorful and fun? 

"Why did I even ask," Poland mused, scooping the palettes up in one clean go. "Of course, the variety will make it hard to find your shade, but I'm not afraid to go trashy at this point." Whatever that meant, Italy wasn't too worried about. After all, a colorful and vibrant death was a good way to go out in his book. 

Italy was instructed then to close his eyes ("Not that tightly, weirdo!") and was met with a soft felt brushing his eyelids. Occasionally the brush would leave, but each time Poland hastily told him to close his eyes again, he was just switching colors. Italy felt this process just didn't end, fears worsening when the soft felt switched over to a wet, marker-esque brush across his lower eye. The desire to peek was too hard to fight, but he knew if he messed up the look Poland would blow a gasket. Finally, his prayers had been answered, and he was told he could look again. "Doing your eyebrows now, but I'm gonna have to revisit your eyelashes later." 

"What could you possibly need to do to my eyebrows?" Immediately a laugh followed his question, dismissing the idea entirely that he possibly couldn't know what needed to be done. 

"You'll notice a difference when you see for yourself." 

Being able to finally see his boyfriend working again, Italy couldn't help but appreciate the way his face contorted in focus as he carefully etched on soft line after line; his own eyebrows seemed to tense, replicating Italy's current position as the canvas as if it helped them stay in place. There was a soft color about his usually pale complexion, probably due to the alcohol, and his eyes barely flickered in his deep concentration. The way his lips softly parted, just enough for Italy to hear the clicking sounds he made to himself after every stroke… Poland was right about it being hard to kiss him right then and there. It was rare to see him so focused, and dare he say serious? Italy found a new contention in his position, never wanting his partner to move and just keep fussing over his every individual feature forever. 

Poland grew to a halt, carefully placing his eyebrow pencil back in it's case. "Can I pluck your eyebrows?" 

"W-What!?" 

"C'mon, pleaaaase? It won't hurt- except for a little- and you have so many strays!" 

Italy winced at the idea, remembering how much it hurt when his brother would pull hairs off of him. "It does hurt! I don't wanna have you pluck my eyebrows off!"

"Oh, not even a little?" Poland grinned mischievously, snipping a pair of tweezers in his partner's face. "I would go as far as to say your look won't be complete without it!" 

"Take whatever you want, just not my eyebrows," Italy cried, huddling himself in the corner of the room by the pillows. 

Poland cackled and put the tweezers to rest. "Alright, you win. Just get back over here, I don't want you smudging my hard work into, like, a pillow or somethings." And after Italy complied, Poland hovered over the tweezers one last time before pulling out a gold metallic tube. "Pucker up." 

There was a small chill of disappointment when the first thing on Italy's lips was lipstick instead of his boyfriend, but he should've expected as much. He was a little stunned when Poland only applied one layer before putting the stick away, miming for Italy to rub his lips together and pop. He expected heavier application, but in hindsight he always did over-apply flavored chapstick… Before he could even comment on it Poland had another tube out, this time long and clear. "Again, please," miming another kissy face. "This is lip gloss, which makes the lipstick...gooier. It helps a lot, I promise." 

He gently traced the lips with the rod, more focused on a generous application, and Italy instinctively poked his tongue out to taste it.

"Hey- don't lick it off! What would it taste like anyway, water?"

"Why don't you see for yourself?" Too easy.

Poland scoffed, turning even more red. "Stop trying to distract me! Now, like, try not to blink for just a sec'." By far the weirdest request yet, but Italy listened. The last product he took out had a dark, spiraled bristle at the end, making a drier sound than the other sticks did. "Now I'm gonna get close to your eyes, but I won't, like, poke them. And if you blink too much, I will invade your country under the merits of the Poland Rule. 'Kay?" He gave a sweet smile to parody as he leaned in close, carefully tugging Italy's lashes with the brush. They were already long and dark, Poland jealously noted, so he didn't need to go as ham as he went on himself. It was a little hard to stay still with the amount of wine in his system and the base of the stick grazed Italy's cheek for a moment, leaving a black smudge and he re-positioned himself up. 

"Ugh, go figure. You can open your eyes again, but I gotta clean this up real quick." Italy blinked, adjusting to the new, heavy feeling of his eyes, and watched as Poland quickly retrieved some concealer (more creamy lotion stuff, in Italy's eyes) and beat the mistake away with a blender. "There, is like it didn't even happen." 

"Grazie," Italy smiled. "So, is that it? You've kind of smothered me all over."

Poland stared at Italy, opening his mouth as if he were about to speak, then closing it with a sigh. "I could still stand to contour, blush, some more crapski… but, yeah, you seem done." 

All of his previous appreciations for the makeover escaped Italy's mind in that moment, for no sweeter words had ever been spoken. "Ve! Can I see then?" And Poland gave him the hand mirror. 

He almost didn't recognize himself at first. He looked so...shiny… like the women he would pick up on the streets. And wow, his eyebrows looked a lot fuller! He didn't look like what Poland described as "trashy," but the choice of blue and pink for the eyes and lips was an interesting one. He began making faces to himself, admiring the new look from every possible angle.

"Uh, glad to see you like it, Marilyn," Poland rolled his eyes, nipping at his wine once more. "Seriously though, you enjoy it?" 

"Hmm… I wouldn't wear it as much as you do, but… maybe someday I'd let you do it again." Italy continued turning the mirror in his hands, as if trying to shake out the man inside. 

Poland pushed the hand mirror down, giving Italy a knowing glare. "How about you show me what flavor water your lips are before I really consider that invasion?" 

With no time wasted, time being a useless concept to the pair regardless, the two went back to rolling across the mattress, smudging makeup on pillows, and working their mouths as much as their breaths allowed. 

And what do you know? It was only 3:02 am.

**Author's Note:**

> man, i wrote this under 24 hours! The Baptism of Poland could NOT relate x  
> so a bit of a story behind this mess, i kind of always hated the way people wrote italy. not anyones fault, but i just simply couldn't picture italy as a fleshed out character! the dude reminds me of spongebob... so i wanted to force myself to write him in a fleshed-out way that worked for me. being in-character was super tough, but i think i...kind of made it work?  
> also, after the time i decided i didnt like italy in fanfictions, i did come across a few gerita and itapol fics that worked really nicely, so i dont have the same belief anymore.  
> and, that's another thing. itapol is criminally underrated and there's just not enough content for them out there. figured to fight this injustice i'd write itapol myself. even it it came out crappy. did it? let me know!


End file.
